Fucking for Freedom
by dancingloki
Summary: Clint and Natasha take it upon themselves to achieve Steve's sexual liberation, in honor of the 4th of July. Liberty and crack!fic for all.


It was the Fourth of July when it all went to hell. They'd had a barbeque at Tony's place in Malibu, which was _swell_, and Steve had really been looking forward to the fireworks, which Bruce assured him were gonna be magnificent.

He'd noticed that Clint and Natasha didn't seem to be having a good time, though. They were over to one side, by themselves, having some tense, whispered discussion. He didn't want to interrupt, but he'd gotten stuck in Responsible Team Leader mode earlier in the day when he had to stop Tony from blowing up an ice sculpture, and darn it, today was about America. And that meant freedom and family and good food, and heck if he was going to have any of his team frowning on the Fourth of July. Not on his watch. Especially not for his first Fourth of July in the 21st century.

So he sidled over, catching the last whispers of their conversation:

_ "Fine, fifty bucks."_

_"A hundred."_

_"Done."_

As he approached, their heads snapped up in unison, and he was fixed with twin predatory grins. He didn't know why, but a chill ran down his spine at the sight. He recovered quickly, though, and passed it off as just his imagination.

"Hey guys," he greeted them with a bright smile. "Havin' fun?"

"Sure are, Cap," Clint replied, cocking his head to one side and flexing his shoulders oddly. Steve took a moment to wonder why the archer would choose a shirt that was clearly a size too small for him; it was awful tight around his arms. He shrugged mentally; as long as Clint was comfortable, that was all that mattered.

"Well, we're gonna light some sparklers, and I thought I might try to get a chorus of 'Yankee Doodle' started, if you two want to come join in," he suggested.

To his great surprise, Natasha wrapped both her arms around his elbow and _purred_. "That sounds _wonderful_, Steve. Lead the way." Steve shot a nervous glance at Clint—_isn't _he_ Natasha's fella?_—but he didn't look annoyed or angry. It was more a grudging admiration on his face. Steve mentally shrugged again and put it down to cultural differences.

When they got near the buffet, Clint leaned in close past him. Steve stepped back to make room for him, pulling his arm free from Natasha's grip. But, bafflingly, Clint just moved forward again into his personal space. His back brushed against Steve's chest, and he craned his neck back to look up into Steve's face.

"No cherry pie? It's my favourite." He _winked_ at Steve.

"Um, I dunno," Steve replied, _utterly_ baffled. "I can go ask Tony, though, I'm sure he can have his cooks whip something up for you," and he edged backwards.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," Clint said quickly, turning around and edging forward back into his personal space. "It's not important. I just thought, you probably haven't had any cherry pie in a _long_ time, huh, Steve?" He tilted his head sideways.

Steve was still trying to figure out why Clint was putting so much emphasis on the words 'cherry pie' when Natasha pulled him back. Startled, he looked down just in time to see her roll her eyes.

"Steve," she cooed, "would you be a doll and go get me a drink?"

"Um, sure," he said uncertainly. "What do you want?"

"Vodka on the rocks," she said smoothly. "And get yourself a beer, you need to loosen up." She squeezed his bicep gently.

Steve laughed hesitantly. "Clint, you want anything?"

Clint hummed, licking his lips. "How 'bout a dry martini?" And he winked at Steve again.

Steve smiled and headed off towards the bar; behind him he heard them hiss at each other. "_He doesn't know Warrant, dumbass!"_

_"And how was I supposed to know that!?"_

He shook his head as he walked away. Tony's very competent bartender mixed the drinks up quickly (although Steve asked him for a ginger ale instead—the alcohol'd be wasted on him, and he'd never liked the taste of beer).

He felt a little foolish balancing the three glasses, but he made it back to the others without spilling a drop. That is, until he got a look at what Natasha was suddenly wearing.

She'd taken her top off! And was standing there in her _underwear!_ Clint was glowering next to her—and no wonder, with his girl showing the whole world that much skin!

He was blushing beet red, his hands were shaking. Clint rescued his and Natasha's drinks, but Steve's ginger ale wound up all over his shoes. He quickly leant down to whisper to her urgently, "Natasha, what in the blue _blazes_ are you wearing? Where'd your blouse go?"

She just chuckled. "Come on, soldier boy, it's hot out here. Don't be such a prude."

"But you're _standing there _in your—your _brassiere_," Steve hissed. Natasha threw back her head for a rich, full-body laugh; Steve's blush deepened as he tried very, very hard not to notice the way her shoulders pulling back made her breasts more prominent.

"Steve, babe, it's a _swimsuit_," she finally said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "It's called a bikini, and they're very popular and totally acceptable to wear in public."

"Why?" She asked, a wicked glint in her eye. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"N-no, I just—" he started, but Clint cut him off, grinning.

"You're making her self-conscious, Steve. That's very rude." He sidled forward into Steve's personal space again, putting a hand on his back. "I think we should join her, just so she doesn't feel out of place."

Without warning, he suddenly stripped off his own shirt, muscles rippling, then grabbed at the hem of Steve's t-shirt! Steve jumped backwards, startled, and tripped over his own feet, landing heavily on his ass. Clint fell forward over his legs, landing heavily on his chest. He didn't seem too upset about it, though—he just sort of collapsed onto Steve, laughing uproariously.

Steve, utterly confused and more than a little bit terrified, could only stare up at Natasha helplessly. The same look of grudging, resentful admiration that he'd seen on Clint earlier flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a carefree smile.

"Oh _Clint_," she said sweetly. "You're _clumsy_ today, aren't you? And you haven't even had anything to drink yet! Here, let me help you boys up." She yanked Clint backwards by the belt of his jeans, practically throwing him to one side, then extended a hand to Steve.

He took it, and she pulled him smoothly to his feet in one easy motion; but she didn't let go of his hand right away. Instead, she kept holding it for several long moments, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb. Steve was frozen for a moment, but when his brain caught up, he yanked his hand back and cleared his throat self-consciously. Natasha smirked.

He stammered out an incoherent excuse and fled. He managed to strike up a conversation with Agent Hill, but after a few minutes Clint showed up out of nowhere!

"Got you a new drink, Cap," he said cheerfully, as if he hadn't been practically sitting in Steve's lap a moment before, and handed him a glass. Steve took it, and sniffed it dubiously before tasting it. Clint chuckled.

"It's just ginger ale, Steve. Tasha wanted to spike it with tequila, since it's the Fourth and all, but no worries. I told her no, waste of good booze. You can't get drunk, anyway, can you?"

"No, I can't," he confirmed, grinning back uncertainly. He wasn't sure what sort of game Clint and Natasha were playing here—he knew they were up to _something_, he wasn't _stupid_—but he didn't want any part of it.

Thankfully, Clint seemed happy just to join in on Steve and Maria's discussion on how to combat guerilla tactics. Steve did notice that he was standing awful close—his arm kept rubbing against Steve's by accident—but it didn't bother him much. Personal space was hard to come by in the service in Steve's day too, Clint probably didn't even realize he was doing it.

He was just starting to relax when Natasha showed back up.

"Hey guys, we were going to go down to the coast for a little bit. Tony says he's got a private beach, and we wanted to swim a little to cool off. You in?"

"Absolutely," Clint agreed immediately. Maria wasn't far behind.

"Yeah, might as well while the sun's highest. Steve?"

He was suddenly transfixed by three pairs of eyes, one politely curious, two inexplicably eager.

"I, um…I don't have my trunks," he managed to stammer out. Natasha just grinned.

"It's a private beach, Steve. You don't _need_ any trunks." She raised one eyebrow suggestively, and Steve flushed hot red. She let him gape and sputter for a moment before laughing, loud and free. "I'm _kidding_, sweetie. Tony's got an extra suit he thinks will fit you, I already asked him. Go get changed, meet us in the parking lot."

Without further ado, she headed off. Clint and Maria followed her, the former with a dirty grin, the latter with an unimpressed eye roll. Steve hovered uncertainly for a minute, then went looking for Tony to ask him to borrow his extra swim trunks.

The beach was nice. Tony drove like a lunatic, sure, but they got there safely in the end. The sand was fine and the water was clear, and he had a swell time with Clint and Natasha. Whatever they'd been up to before, they seemed to have knocked it off, and the three of them splashed around and jumped in the surf and had a grand afternoon.

He got used to the bikinis pretty quick. I mean, it was more skin than he was used to seeing, sure, but it was just a cultural difference. Just like the touching.

Modern folks sure were touchy-feely. Clint and Natasha kept right on touching him, the whole time they were at the beach. Innocent touches, that's all, rubbing his arm or patting his back or stroking his chest lightly.

It was sort of nice, once he got used to the strangeness. Even if it did leave him with a funny sort of hot feeling in his gut that wasn't quite familiar. For some reason, it reminded him of that blonde girl from Howard Stark's laboratory, the one who'd kissed him. He couldn't really figure out why.

They stayed at the beach until it started getting dark, then piled into their cars and headed back up to Tony's house. Clint and Natasha stuck to Steve like butter on bread, and when everyone settled in to watch the fireworks they sat framing him, cuddled up against his sides.

The fireworks were, as promised, spectacular. At some point during the display, Natasha's hand drifted onto his thigh and Clint's curved around his hip. Steve didn't mind. He felt warm inside and his head felt fuzzy in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time.

When the dramatic finale finally ended, and they'd blinked the spots from their eyes, Steve stood and stretched and they joined the people milling around on the balcony. Most people were spending the night there, Steve included—apparently Tony and Pepper had a _ridiculous_ number of spare rooms—and he just sort of stayed off to the side, watching them sort out the sleeping arrangements. He figured he'd just take what was left over after everyone else picked; there were plenty of beds, and if worst came to worst he could just sleep on the couch.

He was smiling absently when Natasha materialized. She leaned against the wall next to him, a soft smile of her own in place. "Did you have a good time today, Steve?"

"I did, Natasha, thank you," he answered quietly.

"I know this was important to you," she continued. "Having the family all together for America's birthday." She nudged him with one elbow, and he smiled at the ground, bashful.

"It was nice, yeah," he replied. "My first Fourth of July in more than sixty years, it was nice to have a big old-fashioned party. We never did sing Yankee Doodle, though." She chuckled, then leaned in against his side.

"I'm glad you're happy, Steve," she breathed, and the heat of her body bled through his clothing into his skin. He could feel the curves of her body pressing against his chest now, and he finally understood what he'd been feeling all day. The strange, hot, tickling feeling he'd gotten in his belly every time she or Clint had touched him was multiplied, overwhelming, and before he really realized what he was doing he had leaned down and pressed their lips together, kissing her for all he was worth.

He had no idea how long their mouths were joined—it could have been a few brief seconds or several hours for all he knew—but far too quickly she was pulling back. The second they separated he remembered where he was and realized what he'd been doing, and jumped back away from her, hitting his head against the wall.

Clint was standing just a few feet away, staring at them. And he did he look _sore_. Well, and he should be—he'd just caught his friend making time with his girl! Steve opened his mouth to apologize, to offer some sort of explanation. But before he found his voice, Clint stepped forward with a wordless growl, shaking his head and—handing a folded bill to Natasha?

They took one look at the baffled, terrified look on his face and burst out laughing. Natasha took pity on him and explained. "We…had a bet. First one to get you to put out gets a hundred bucks from the other." She giggled. _Giggled_. Steve's head was swimming.

Clint grinned. "We've been working on you all day, Cap. I thought I had you, after our little 'accident' by the food table, but man you have that virgin thing down to an art."

Steve's brain was scrambling madly to keep up. "So you guys have just been playing me? This whole time?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Natasha said with her signature sideways shrug. She leaned into him again. "You might not have known this, Steve, but you're kinda built. And we like guys with muscles."

"_We_? I don't…" He turned to Clint. "You're not sore at me for kissing your girl?"

"Nope," Clint said simply.

Steve was still completely at sea. "So, when she said 'we'…"

"You see, Cap," Clint's grin widened, "Tasha and I have found that a key to a happy, healthy relationship is being open with each other. _Very_ open. We like to share. And _you_, big fella," he stretched lazily and then wrapped one arm around Steve's waist, "there's enough of you to go around."

Natasha had a grin of her own now. No more softness in her face; her grin was the tiger's now, sharp and fierce and dangerous. "Besides, Steve. We were only thinking of you. We were trying to _liberate_ you, help you get over the stuffy, repressed mental block the olden days left you with."

"It's America's birthday," Clint chimed in. "We should celebrate. I already grabbed us a room." His arm tightened around Steve's waist.

Steve swallowed hard. He was still kind of scared, and had little to no idea what was going on or what they were talking about, but it _sounded_ like they wanted to…fondue, and…he thought he might be up for that.

So, he didn't resist when they lead him by the arms to their bedroom—isolated from the rest of the house, there was no way _that_ was a coincidence—and stripped him of his shirt. His pants and their clothes quickly followed, and before he knew it he was spread-eagled on the bed, naked, Natasha straddling his chest while Clint kissed him down into the mattress.

He felt clumsy and awkward and about two feet too tall, but they didn't seem to notice; they just put him exactly where they wanted him, no hesitation. Natasha grabbed his hands and put them on her breasts, showing him with her fingers how to massage and fondle them, guiding him to gently pinch and tease her nipples. He gasped at the feeling of warm, firm flesh under his palms.

She moaned, throwing her head back as she ground her hips down, rubbing her clit in slow circles on Steve's stomach, leaving a wet trail as she moved. Steve whimpered when Clint pulled away, oblivious to the jealous, competitive look on his face.

In moments, Clint was sliding down the bed to wrap a calloused hand around his cock. At the first solid stroke, he cried out and bucked up into Clint's grasp, nearly throwing Natasha. She laughed aloud, bracing herself on his chest, and rode him relentlessly as he thrust his hips helplessly up with each movement of Clint's hand.

Suddenly, she rolled abruptly off him, flopping onto her back next to him on the bed, and beckoned to Clint with a seductive smile. "Get me ready, now," she said, her voice husky and thick. "I want to ride him."

He crawled over Steve's legs, leaning in to place a kiss on the inside of her thigh. "If you last long enough. I could make you come with just my tongue and while you're recovering, I'll have him all to myself." He dove forward, licking a wet stripe along the slit of her pussy, then circling her clit with the tip of his tongue.

She gave a breathy moan, then suddenly clamped down with her thighs, flipping them abruptly. They grappled for a moment, but she quickly overpowered him, straddling his face with his arms pinned over his head. "In your dreams, birdbrain. I can finish _you_ with just one finger, and then thoroughly rock his world before you're even _close_ to being ready to go again."

Clint curled up his body, wrapping his legs around her waist to throw her onto her back on the bed. He dove on top of her, teasing and nipping at one of her nipples with his teeth. "I was the one who had him yelling, with just one hand. He nearly _threw_ you."

"Oh _yeah_?"

Steve shrank away to the headboard out of the way. They were wrestling and bantering, each constantly trying to one-up the other and stay on top.

He cleared his throat, but they took no notice of him. He was starting to think they'd forgotten he was there. Gingerly, he edged off the bed, tense with the expectation that at any moment they'd notice him and pounce on him again.

When they continued to ignore him, wrapped up in their—were they fighting, or fonduing? He honestly couldn't tell at this point—he swiftly snatched up his clothes from the floor and made a dash for it.

In the corridor, he pressed his back against the wall, covering his crotch with his clothes bundle and waiting for his fluttering heartbeat to slow. After a moment, he started to draw his boxers on with shaking hands. _Definitely_ sleeping on the couch tonight.

It was _very_ thoughtful of them to try and help him out, but…he really didn't think he wanted his first time to be so _wild_. The future sure was a strange place.

...

youtube dot com/watch?v=OjyZKfdwlng Cherry Pie, by Warrant

Title from this: textsfromthe-avengers dot tumblr dot com/post/47021175069

and before u say i am shitty writer let me explain u a thing i am honestly not sure if i am awake right now this is 100% crack and i stand behind none of it. it is a birthday gift to America happy 4th of July everybody


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